The Lover Speaks To The Hearers Of His Songs In Coming Days - Poem by William Butler Yeats

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O WOMEN, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence,When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer,And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet airAnd covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense;Bend down and pray for all that sin I wove in song,Till the Attorney for Lost Souls cry her sweet cry,And.call to my beloved and me: 'No longer flyAmid the hovering, piteouS, penitential throng.'